20. Hattie

"What am I thinking now?" Peggy asks, and her accent is the most country-fried I have ever heard it. With all that makeup running down your face, you're just one fluffy tail short of being the cutest raccoon to run around Brambleberry Bay.

My mouth falls open, but before I can answer, Clarabelle plucks at my arm.

"What am I thinking?" she asks while staring into my eyes as if the fate of the universe depends on her very next thought. You look like a clown who just saw a tearjerker!

"Oh, for Pete's sake," I grunt at the two of them as we sit at a small bistro table right here in the most happening coffee shop Brambleberry Bay has ever seen, the new Whisk and Whip Gourmet Coffee and Pastries Shop. The place is packed to the hilt with bodies, and the poor girls running the counter look frazzled as they try to keep up with the customers.

The décor is pink and gold, the scent of freshly brewed coffee is putting my caffeine addiction on notice, and don't get me started on what the scent of those freshly baked cinnamon rolls is doing to me.

I'd pretty much kill to make sure I get one as soon as they pop out of the oven. And I might just start my murderous spree with these two ladies here.

"Do I really look that bad?" I ask, trying to catch my reflection in the brass railing next to me, but all I see is a blurry smudged face with mascara trailing down my face like abstract art gone wrong. And come to think of it, that orange lipstick isn't doing me any favors either. "Never mind, don't answer that," I say, quickly dabbing my lips with a pastel pink napkin from the dispenser next to me.

We haven't placed our orders just yet. The line was almost out the door when we walked in so we grabbed a seat instead.

I'm actually set to meet Killion here this afternoon. Last night, before he could tell me a thing about the coroner's report, he had an emergency down at the office and had to leave shortly after I took a bath in pasta sauce. Which reminds me, I really need to get back to the Lobster Boil and order the pasta with clams. From what I tasted of the red sauce, it's scrumptious.

"So?" Peggy nods. "Did ya read my mind?"

"And mine?" Clarabelle ads in haste.

"Yes, and now I realize I look like both a raccoon and a clown." I make a face at them for going there. "But to be fair, you ladies were in the same classes I was at today."

By some miracle, Peggy, Clarabelle, and I lived through four of Missy Livingston's self-help disasters out on the blistering sand this afternoon.

First up was Glitter Stride, an entire hour of our lives that we will never get back, emphasizing the idea that life can be as glittery as your shoelaces. The entire focus of this class was finding joy and sparkle in our everyday steps—as we glued glitter to shoelaces.

Next was Coloring Your Way to Clarity, an hour spent by the sea using coloring books as a tool for relaxation and mindfulness while dabbling in the therapeutic art of, well, coloring.

I'll admit, that was my favorite class of the day. I foresee an entire cache of coloring books in my future.

She also encouraged us to share our problems with one another while we armed ourselves with pencils in every hue of the rainbow. She said that talking to strangers could be the most therapeutic thing on the planet—next to coloring in a petunia, that is.

After that, we embarked on a class called Romancing the Pink Stone, where we learned all about the fine art of rubbing our faces raw with pink Himalayan sea salt. Of course, Missy kept saying ridiculous things like no pain no gain, and you'll look more radiant than the sun once we sand ten years off your faces.

Let's just say I've had third-degree burns that felt more pleasant.

And finally, we rounded out the afternoon with the Glitz and Glam course. A one-hour tutorial on how to attract men in a back alley and make a little dough while you're at it.

Okay, so that wasn't exactly the premise. I believe the narrative she tried to sell us was dare to be beautiful. Let's just say there was far too much gel eyeliner, not to mention lots of bold eyeshadow and daring lipstick choices to be had. Bad choices. And the three of us are wearing them all.

"I think we learned the hard way that ninety-degree temperatures don't mingle well with gel eyeliner," I say, casting a glance from Peggy to Clarabelle who also happens to be wearing enough dark kohl to make any pack of raccoons or car full of clowns envious. "But on the bright side, the three of us look as if we're ready to audition for Alice Cooper's stunt doubles."

"Who's she?" Peggy wrinkles her nose at the mention of the rock god.

"I hope she's got good hair," Clarabelle adds just as the bell chimes at the entry. "Here they come, Hattie"—Clarabelle cringes in that direction—"Mom One and Mom Two. If I were you, I'd hide under the table. A face like that could be used against you in a court of law, or for the next few decades' worth of Thanksgiving dinners."

"What?" I spin around and, sure enough, my mother and Nora are making a beeline toward the counter. Speaking of which, another register just opened up and the congestion instantly dies down.

"Quick"—Peggy says, hoisting Clarabelle out of her seat—"it's time to seize the latte!"

"And don't forget the eclairs we've yet to conquer," Clarabelle adds as they make a beeline toward the registers themselves.

I'm about to join them just as my eye snags on a trio of women seated by the window.

It's that petite redhead from last night—Dr. Draper's wife!

Oh, how I'd love to be a fly on one of those delicious donuts sitting before them. I'd probably try to eat the entire plate of donuts, they look that delectable. And considering my diminutive size as a newly-minted winged creature, it would probably be the end of me. Although, all things considered, when it comes to the life of a fly, death by donut doesn't sound all that bad.

A pair of strong, warm arms wrap themselves around me from behind and the scent of my favorite spiced cologne greets me.

"Hello, beautiful." Killion lands a kiss to my cheek and I spin into his arms. "Where are the kids?" he says with a playful wink.

Since Killion had to work late I offered to take Rookie for the night.

"At my cabin, enjoying air conditioning while binge-watching all the It's a Furry World they can handle. I didn't have the heart to bring them out on the sand today. It's really cooking out there."

"I'll say." He grimaces a moment as he inspects my features. I don't want to be the one to break it to her, but I think her face is melting.

"I'm aware," I say, pointing to my melting features. "But don't worry. I don't plan on reprising the look anytime soon."

It really is as if she can read my mind.He chuckles with the thought.

"I could read the look of horror on your face," I say just as those women who were with Mrs. Draper get up and leave, but the redhead who I'd love to question seems to be staying put. "Killion, would you mind getting me a latte and maybe a few sweet treats we could share? I see a member from the country club I'd like to say hello to."

"No problem," he says, landing a kiss on my check. "In fact, I think our mothers are here." He nods toward the front.

"Ooh, why don't you grab a seat with them? I'll meet up with you as soon as I can." I'm about to take off before I backtrack. "You might want to grill your mother on what she and Jane Jordan were arguing about the day Jane died."

"In front of your mother?" He looks slightly amused by this.

"They're besties now." I shrug up at him. "And besties have no secrets." Unless, of course, Nora somehow roped my mother into participating in a homicide. And knowing Nora like I do, I wouldn't put it past her.

It would explain a lot.

I dot his cheek with a kiss before taking off.

Honestly, the last thing I want to do is grab a seat with my mother and Nora, but I need someone to occupy Killion in the event Mrs. Draper feels like pinning a homicide on her soon-to-be ex.

And a part of me is hoping that's exactly what she'll do.